


Blood Sugar, Sex Magick

by frogfarm



Series: Buffy Etcetera: (Shorts) By Request [31]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Annual Femslash Kinkmeme, Community: femslash_kink, F/F, Fuck Or Die, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Reversing the Mayor's bodyswap reveals a hidden failsafe. Result: "We have to have sex."Post-4x16, "Who Are You", with some changes. Faith POV.





	Blood Sugar, Sex Magick

**Author's Note:**

> For Femslash Kink Meme 2018. Requested: Faith/Tara, sex magick.
> 
> My longest and plottiest FK yet. Best? Well, you be the judge.

The chains itch. Which is weird, because you'd figure ropes would itch more than metal. But that's the sort of trivial observation your mind will focus on whenever things have gone completely south of the border and you're stuck somewhere -- in chains, or not -- waiting for the authority to decide your fate. And while she's been here enough times to have lost track of exactly how many, Faith has never gotten used to it. One of these days it'll be the final time and it won't be a cell they march her off to. Until then, she gets to sit here and stew.

The only minor consolation is feeling pretty sure it's not some twisted psych manipulation. She can't quite make out but one in five words, but none of it sinks in; only the anger and argumentation, which has the definite ring of authenticity. It all flows past her as she stares at the wall, in her mind's eye seeing herself staring back. Which self that is tends to fluctuate, as she drifts in and out of different levels of awareness. At one point comes a vision of Riley's goddamn eyes staring deeply into hers and Faith nearly leans over and pukes. Instead she stares at the wall and breathes, trying to ignore the growing chill seeming to emanate from her bones, sinking into her gut with cold finality.

At some point it feels like the silence outside has lasted longer than usual. In any other scenario she'd be taking advantage; getting loose from her bonds, making good her escape. Maybe her subconscious is just playing it cool. Waiting for the right moment.

More like it knows better.

The sound of the door brings her out of it. A tendril of ice unfurls through her insides, and Faith's bracing for the worst that Buffy can bring when a strange scent registers, a different presence altogether. She's still trying to place it when the voice speaks.

"We need to talk."

The confusion must be plain on her face as Faith looks up to find the last person she would have expected. Willow's girlfriend is still wearing the same modest long burgundy dress and white sweater that barely registered when the Scoobies first surrounded her outside and bundled her into the stolen Watchermobile. She'd been staring out the back window when Buffy emerged from the church doors, watched Riley hesitantly approach her only to be rebuffed. Then they'd brought her here to Giles's place, chained her up in the bathtub while making cryptic remarks about Spike that would have gone over her head at the best of times, and left her to hang out and dry.

"Willow and I did a spell." Tara's arms are crossed, her posture rigid and withdrawn. Nonetheless, she's looking Faith dead in the eye. "To reverse yours."

Faith can feel an eyebrow rise. She doesn't say, but honestly, she's impressed. Anyone who could counter something the boss

( _Wilkins_ )

had conjured up? That was someone to be reckoned with. 

Tara just keeps looking at her like it's getting more awkward for both of them by the moment instead of just her, until Faith can feel herself ready to haul off and snap. She keeps it to a single word.

"And?"

It didn't even sound that nasty, but Tara looks to be hovering on the verge of backing out of whatever she's about to say. The anxious tension, the rising color in her cheeks all combine to something blatantly obvious, and Faith is on the verge of figuring it out --

"We have to have sex."

Faith thinks this is probably the longest amount of time she's ever sat gaping at someone in stunned silence. Tara pulls up the nearby chair and sits, hands prim on knees, no longer looking at her.

"So --" Faith clears her throat. "Gonna skip past the part where I check for hidden cameras and just say -- what the _fuck?_ "

Tara doesn't flinch. "And?"

Faith sighs. "And use small words." 

She still only half-follows the stammered explanation, but the bottom line is the whole _twenty-one hours to live_ (it's been a few hours since they conjured the katra), compounded by the absolute earnestness with which Tara presents her case. The irony isn't lost on Faith that Willow was the one to notice the problem and figure it out in the first place.

"And Red signed off on this." Faith can't buy that for a second.

Tara bows her head in assent.

"She thought it was her fault. That she messed up the spell." Tara's hands twist in her lap as she stares down at them. "But I was pretty sure -- I would have known if something was wrong. W-with us."

The look on her face leaves Faith with no doubt about just what kind of 'magic' those two had been up to. But the next words bring her dirty thoughts to a halt.

"But your katra -- when it was destroyed, it rebounded."

The cold pit in her belly is returning with a vengeance. It's all starting to make some kind of sense, and Tara confirms it as she continues.

"Basically, a dead man's curse." A look of genuine unhappiness on Tara's face, seemingly at the very notion of such a thing. "Whoever made yours -- they were trying to make sure it would take out anyone who messed with it."

Faith does her best to process this. "What about Willow? Wouldn't it hit both of you?"

Tara shakes her head. "Willow's too strong. She probably blocked it without even realizing."

Faith feels like she ought to take a moment to absorb that, in light of her earlier thoughts. But Tara's still speaking.

"I said it wasn't her fault, and --" Tara takes a deep breath, her bosom heaving prettily under Faith's traitously roaming gaze. "She asked me why I had to do this. It's because -- this is how _we_ did it."

"Knew it." Faith curses internally at her inability to stay shut up. She can't even enjoy being right as Tara moves onward.

"I told her, if you don't trust Faith -- then trust me. I knew she wasn't going to like it. But I thought Buffy was going to go through the roof."

The sudden lump in her throat must show on her face because Tara rises smoothly from her chair and fills a glass of water at the sink. Faith manages to get it situated in her shackled hands, drinking half the glass in one go.

"She obviously had some kind of problem with it that she didn't want to talk about. But then she started talking about keeping you locked up. Or drugging you." Tara's voice is firm, without a trace of stutter. "I had to tell her that wasn't going to happen."

Faith can't look away. "Why?"

"Because it's wrong." Tara doesn't hesitate. "And -- because...like a lot of magick -- the spell needs full consent."

Faith stares back in utter disbelief.

"And you're okay with this."

"I want to live." The statement is simple and honest fact. Tara continues, with an utterly straight face. "It's not like it's going to kill me."

Faith stares a second longer and then horrifies herself with a brief giggle, choked off in an instant. Not entirely a healthy sound, but at least it's trying to be positive.

"Well, you picked a great spot." She casts her gaze about the bathroom, tiny even by her standards. "Real honeymoon suite."

Tara just looks back at her. "Will you do this?"

Faith laughs again. It sounds even less stable as her mouth slowly curls into something like a smile.

"Do I get to hear you beg?"

Tara doesn't hesitate. "Well, that wasn't predictable."

Faith blinks in surprise as Tara continues, her voice rising to a coquettish falsetto.

"Should I say it like a porn star? Maybe like one of your French girls?" The sarcasm disappears, in its place dead serious. "I won't beg."

"Then you'll die." Faith doesn't know if she means it, but there it is. Call that bluff.

And then a shiver of weakness, somewhere in that complex set of emotional armor. 

"Not..." Tara's voice is nearly a whisper. "Not for me."

A chill of understanding trickles down her spine. "Willow." 

"I don't want to leave her." Tara looks doubly stricken, like she actually feels _guilty_ for asking this of Faith. "Not when I just found her."

_Fuck._

"All right." Somehow, Faith manages to continue breathing. She swallows, looks Tara in the eye and gives a single, jerking nod. "All right."

Tara doesn't sound relieved, or look it. Faith finds herself frozen with indecision as a key is produced from a chain around the other woman's neck. It takes a few minutes to remove the shackles from her legs, even with her full cooperation.

"I told them," Tara murmurs. "The rest come off when the spell is done."

Faith stares at those softly sculpted features, set hard and resolute. Maybe not in acceptance, but something else is there as well, more than what might be normally expected. As if anything about this is normal.

Tara's hand is warm in hers as the other woman helps her out of the tub, makes sure she can walk before opening the door. Each little act of consideration is a knife in her gut, all clustered around the spot where Buffy stabbed her with her own. She puts on a brave face, but as far as any dirty talk, her notorious wicked tongue appears to have deserted her.

Giles is nowhere to be seen when they emerge but Faith can hear him bustling in the kitchen with what even to her untrained ears strikes her as tea-making things. Tara follows close behind as they ascend the stairs. Their destination becomes apparent when they hit the landing; all the furniture in the master bedroom has been shoved to the walls, allowing Willow to lay out a triple circle on the floor, the innermost of which is a good eight feet across. Buffy stands on the outer edge, arms folded over her chest, her back to Faith.

"Almost done." Willow sounds even more tense than she looks, intent on her work. Buffy doesn't move as the finishing touches are inscribed. Tara's hand falls away from Faith's own, but the Slayer's heart briefly quickens at the slight parting squeeze. An attempt at reassurance?

"The inside is a sound barrier. The middle one blocks visible light, and the outside -- that's the true perimeter." For a moment Willow almost sounds normal, like she's explaining a science project. Then she's turning too quickly away, going over to the dresser to mess with various magickal items.

Faith can feel the emotion roiling beneath Tara's calm exterior, a mirror of her own. Can't remember the last time she'd been this nervous about getting horizontal. Then she remembers Riley, gazing into her eyes and her cool facade comes close to shattering before Faith hardens her heart. Maybe nothing in the world can make up for what she's done to Buffy, but she can fix this; help the girl who's suffering because of her. She tries in vain to catch Tara's eye, to somehow silently convey her own misgivings.

"No time like the present." She manages a halfway blasé attitude that draws the expected tense shoulders and glares from Willow and Buffy, respectively. Tara shakes her head.

"We have to mix the potion first."

Faith remains silent as Tara joins Willow at the dresser. Even with the tension between them clear as day, they work seamlessly well together, anticipating each other's movements without a word spoken. Faith tries to ignore her stomach tying itself in knots as she watches them, feeling the ripening bruises on her face continue to darken, the product of her own blows at the literal hands of another.

Speak of the devil.

"You hurt that girl?" Buffy's voice is barely audible as she leans in close, eyes shining death. "There won't be enough of you to put behind bars."

"I'm not gonna hurt her, B." Faith returns death with dead calm. "Not the way I hurt you."

Buffy's fingers twitch, hands loose at her sides. For a second Faith is ready, standing tall, refusing to flinch from the inevitable blow. But Buffy only grimaces and turns away, walking over to the dresser and muttering something to Willow under her breath. Willow mutters back, something like _I can handle it_ , and Buffy heads out of the room without a backward glance, the sound of creaking stairs fading from Faith's awareness.

She's still straining to make out any sound from downstairs when Tara holds a mason jar up to the light, giving it a critical once-over before nodding once in approval. Cradling the jar in both hands, Tara turns around, steps into the circle and takes a seat in the center, carefully arranging her dress as she crosses her legs. 

Willow gestures toward the circle, still not looking at Faith. A flicker of irritation threatens to rear its head, and the Slayer quashes it as she moves forward, ignoring the tingle as she steps over the three lines, taking her place on the floor opposite Tara as the witch pulls out a pile of torn notebook pages. She's beginning to wonder if they'll have an audience after all when Tara speaks.

"Willow's just here to supervise."

"Read my mind," Faith mutters without thinking. Another flush of guilt flares up, but Tara continues as though she hasn't said a word.

"It won't work if she puts her own energy into this." Tara hands her one of the pages. "Can you read that?"

Faith squints, and Tara sighs.

"Just drink this." Tara's already serious demeanor becomes downright funereal. "And say exactly what I say."

Faith barely has time to appreciate country girl's backbone, or the foulness of something she was expecting to taste like vanilla coke by the smell of it, before Tara joins her left hand with the Slayer's right. Clearing her throat, the witch begins reading from the sheet, pausing every so often to allow Faith to catch up. At least it's not Latin, or one of the weird demony languages she remembers Willow occasionally dabbling in; just a string of single syllables, occasionally repeating to break up the monotony and try to throw her off her game. But the initial trickle of power quickly builds, along with her confidence, and now the words are tumbling forth in a ceaseless stream of nonsense reminiscent of airport evangelists in classic movies: _Ah re no gi me lu ba un ta fo si ma ne_ until the expanding ball of luminosity surrounds them, blinding in its brilliance. It's like every scrap of pleasure Faith has ever known in her life, like nothing she's felt before; a pulse without sound that fills her with light until her body and soul are straining to contain it.

She doesn't realize it's over until she registers Tara still holding on to her hand, with a grip near to painful. The sound of movement is almost enough to damage her calm and then she remembers Willow. Craning her head around, she can just see the redhead turn her back on the circle and walk out of the room, shutting the door as though a butterfly were caught between its hinges.

Faith stares at the door long enough to get a kink in her neck, wincing as she turns back around. Tara hasn't moved, sitting staring into space like a junkie flying high. Then she shakes her head, recognition dawning in her eyes as focus returns to her gaze.

Faith meets that gaze squarely. "Wow."

Tara lets out a long, shaky breath. "I know."

"So..." Faith can feel the afterglow buzzing all throughout her being, the subsonic hum of a bell rung good and hard. "That's magic."

"Not always, but --" Tara gives her hand a squeeze with shaking fingers as she disengages. "Yeah."

Faith can feel a cast iron poker face settling over her features as cold awareness returns, her heart sinking further yet again. Still wearing the same grungy clothes she'd had on when she made the swap with Buffy, and who knows what the bitch has been up to in them? Then it all comes crashing back, the deluge threatening to drown until she forces everything down, away.

"Okay." Faith takes a deep breath. Except Tara's fingers are already on her lips; the skin a little rougher than she might have guessed, smelling faintly of incense.

"It is." Tara's looking her right in the eye. Everything from resolve to acceptance, even apology is there; for what, Faith has no idea. "O-okay."

 _The fuck it is_ , Faith thinks. Tara's pulling another key from her necklace, unlocking the cuffs around Faith's wrists. They've been on long enough to leave marks, and a brief flicker of anger washes over Tara's gentle features at the ugly sight. She finishes removing them with greater care, then sets them to one side with an air of apology.

"Sorry. These have to stay in here." 

"Can't break the circle." Faith nods even as her vaunted cool threatens to desert her. The moment of truth having arrived, she can't believe she's feeling genuine anxiety at this stage of the game, regardless of unusual circumstance.

It's just fucking bodies.

Tara's looking down at the floor between them, fiddling with the hem of her sweater and suddenly it's the hottest thing she's ever seen. More than the not-quite innocent posture, the tilt of her head so that long blonde hair fell across her face just so; beautiful not for the passing resemblance to Buffy, but in her own right. The lush, generous figure shrouded under those plain clothes is a mystery, one Faith finds herself eager to unravel.

"Let's get one thing straight." She quashes the fledgling urge to be nice, at least until ground rules have been established. Propping one arm on her knee, she levels her gaze at Tara. The other girl is still sitting cross-legged, staring back like she's waiting for Faith to whip out the whips to go with the chains.

"I'm shit. But if I was half as bad as they think I am?" Faith leans forward just a hair, pitching her voice that much lower. "I'd ruin you for her."

A little gust of air squeaks out from under Tara's fingers as she briefly covers her mouth and nose. It doesn't hide the genuine blush in her cheeks, but it's enough to tell Faith she's missed the mark.

"Not that I'm the expert. As far as ex-" Tara clears her throat. "Experience."

The last word comes out deeper. Faith can feel it sending a tickle of interest between her thighs, like licking a battery.

"But -- no offense intended?" Tara's smile is kind, and all the more infuriating for it. "Nobody's that good."

Faith lets out a sarcastic snort of her own. It's a weak one, but she's up for the challenge, ready to turn it right back around.

But Tara shakes her head.

"The way I feel about her --" And the sadness in that smile seems meant for Faith, and her alone. "It doesn't matter how good you are."

"So how good do I have to be?" Faith's lip twists in a sneer. She ignores the blatant cruelty in her own voice, ticking off talking points. "What exactly qualifies as sex? We both gotta get off, or just you?"

"Well, you've got twenty hours left. Is this what you consider pillow talk?"

"Fuck you." It's out before Faith can stop herself. Tara only smiles; neither happy nor sad. Simply accepting.

"That's the idea."

Faith blinks, then returns the smile with slightly less bitter.

"Quite the mouth on you, huh? When Red's not around to tug your leash."

"My life didn't start with Willow." Though the tremor in Tara's voice belies her words, but Faith can absolutely believe the rest. "And it won't end with her."

A vague and evil notion is beginning to percolate. Faith can tell just how evil by her own surprisingly intense and negative reaction. Still, she needs to quit being so predictable.

"No pillows, huh?" Faith looks about the circle, affecting disappointment. "No blankets...oh look, we got shackles. Can't take responsibility if I forced you, right?"

Tara doesn't answer, but the disappointment is clear in her eyes. Faith swallows back instinctive anger.

"I assume you need to come."

The resulting shiver is all the answer she needs.

"Then you need to relax."

Tara's confusion is far more attractive than angst. Faith continues, gentle yet without mercy.

"And the only way you're gonna relax is if you pretend you're not cheating on her."

Tara inhales sharply as Faith's arms encircle her trembling body.

"We just met," Faith whispers. "You don't even know me. But the minute you saw me..."

Tara seems to stifle a moan. "Go on."

"You knew you wanted this." Faith revels in the familiar joy of female flesh in her hands, abundant, warm and responsive. 

"Who are you?" Tara's voice is a choked whisper. "Why -- why do I feel this way..."

"You ever see a girl like me?" Faith's hands lazily stroke the other girl's shoulders, ease down and slide up inside her shirt. "In school? Anywhere?"

"Yes." The hiss of Tara's breath is accompanied by the surprise of her hands finding Faith, moving across the corded muscles of her back in broad, rough strokes. "You want to know what I think? About them?"

"What do you think?" A growl simmers in Faith's throat as she grabs onto generous hips, grinding and insinuating one knee into the crevice between skirt and thigh. 

"I think about them...doing this to me." Tara's breath is hot against her carotid artery, the one she always remembers because Wesley insisted on her getting it right. Her hips shudder back and forth as Faith pulls her skirt up to her waist, fingers teasing the elastic band. "Fucking me."

A lovely queer thrill runs through her belly at the sound of that voice, saying those words. She wants to ask if Tara kisses Willow with that mouth; if she says things like this to that stuck-up little redhead while they're doing the same to each other. She just can't think of a nice way to say it.

Tara's moans are growing huskier as Faith lifts her arms and pulls off her shirt, revealing breasts that absolutely live up to their minimal billing. The witch groans in assent as Faith takes her in both hands, her squeezes just shy of pain.

"Here --" Faith mumbles as they sink back to their knees, momentarily jockeying for position. A quick look to one side reassures Faith they're well within the circle, and she lays Tara down like a goddamn Disney princess, even tucking the discarded shirt under her head for a makeshift pillow. The look on the witch's face is beyond priceless, but Faith already figures herself for world's biggest sap. At this point, her dignity isn't worth sparing.

"Is that what you want?" Laid out on her stomach between upraised knees, Faith nuzzles against plain cotton underwear. A deep and satisfying breath is more than enough confirmation she's on the right track. "To get fucked?"

"Yes..." The single syllable dies away in a long, panting hiss. Faith hugs those big old hips like a life preserver, planing firm kisses all over, just hard enough to not tickle.

"Too bad." Faith bears down, applying expert fingers with perfect leverage, causing her quarry's hips to elevate and a squeal to emerge from Tara's throat. In the blink of an eye the underwear is off, dangling from Faith's fingers as she contemplates the results.

"'Cause I think you need more than that." She leans in, resting her cheek on one thigh, watching the tiny hairs tremble under the breeze of her breathing. "A lot more."

As expected, the girl's not a shaver, but Faith finds it oddly comforting. Besides, a little bush never hurt anyone. She takes every minute of her sweet time getting there, but once she's settled in to feast she can't help inevitably drifting around and coming in from the other direction. Just makes it so much easier to reach all those delicate nooks and crannies, never mind whether she's getting hers. And as tempting as the notion is, Faith is bound and determined to give it to this girl so good and hard, she'll be seeing Slayers in her dreams for the rest of her life. Tara's fully open for her now, sticky slick and clenching with each slow swipe of her tongue, every lingering tease of her killing fingers, and when she pulls those luscious thighs apart and sinks deep with a hum and moan there's an answering surge deep in her own throbbing cunt when Tara groans and cries out, actually clutches the back of Faith's head and pushes, thrusts her hips and generally sounds and moves like she's being punched in the gut while riding the world's loopiest roller coaster. But all good things must come to an end, and Faith slowly relents, easing the pace of her movements until her slippery fingers have slipped free, still breathing hot kisses into that glorious pussy and if she hasn't made an impression on this chick --

 _Shit._ Faith knows those tremors, and they aren't the fun kind. Tiny sniffles reach her ears, chilling her to the bone. She goes to sit up, but Tara's hand is back on her head, gently holding her in place.

"No --" Tara whispers, and falls silent. Faith swallows, and sighs, and remains right where she is.

Some time passes until Faith becomes aware that Tara's hand is moving, oh so gently almost-stroking her hair. The Slayer swallows again, shifting uncomfortably.

"Sorry," Tara mumbles, and the hand retreats. Faith reaches out and grabs on, as gently as she can.

"It's okay." She struggles for a moment, wondering if she's doing the right thing for the right reason. "You don't have to."

"I wasn't going to." Tara sits up, skirt falling to cover her thighs. Her chest remains gloriously naked, and Faith forces her reluctant gaze northward. The witch's face reflects a substantial inner struggle, the wrestling of some great dilemma. "But now --"

 _You want to?_ Faith doesn't dare speak. Whatever comes out will probably be worse.

"It's not just you." Tara's hand finds the Slayer's, lips lightly running over their intertwined fingers. "I kind of owe you my life --"

"Oh, please." Faith's ready to do more than scoff, but Tara frowns and shakes her head.

"That wasn't your fault."

"You gotta be --"

"You didn't know about the curse."

Faith raises one eyebrow. Tara remains steadfast.

"You didn't."

Faith purses her lips and puffs out a bit of air. Exhaustion and excitement war inside of her, along with what's likely a good bit of sleep deprivation.

"And -- well, it's kind of a Wiccan thing. Justice...fair play, whatever you want to call it." Tara swallows, holding her chin high. "It wouldn't be right to --"

"Leave me hangin'?" A ghostly chuckle comes from Faith. One last hurrah before the hangman, more like.

She wills herself to remain perfectly still as Tara leans in to help Faith out of her denim jacket, breasts pressing up against her own through the thin layer of her shirt. Still no kisses, but Faith thrills to the faint nip and scrape of teeth even as she feels Tara exerting subtle pressure, trying to get her to lay down herself. Faith doesn't say a word, just keeps kissing back, refusing to allow herself to be pushed. Fortunately Tara has enough sense to back off, but the look on her face nearly makes Faith reconsider.

"It's not you." Faith struggles to add something more. Still, it looks like that was enough.

"I figured." Tara doesn't sound overly put off. Her questing fingers locate Faith's belt, toying with the buckle. "Can I at least get you to take these off?"

To say Faith is torn would be the understatement of the year. She's weighing her options, leaning toward an outright cut and run when Tara grabs her by the jaw, gently forcing her to look into the witch's eyes.

"I can't be her."

Something shatters inside Faith. For that sliver of a moment, she's ready to kill.

"But we don't always get what we want." Tara's voice is quiet, implacable, relentless. "So just let me...improvise."

"Yeah?" Faith clears her throat, fighting against the ever-present urge to resist. "Show me what you got."

What she's got, it turns out, is the mirror of Faith's own soft touch strategy; treating the Slayer like an innocent, like something precious Tara's been temporarily entrusted with. It's the last thing Faith is expecting, and by the time she's worked up enough to wiggle out of her jeans the ache between her legs is ready, able and more than willing. Tara nudges her knees up, feet apart, her slightly less gentle nipple pinches bringing growls of approval from Faith as the witch's hands slowly descend to her crotch, finding her hot and wet through the layer of silk.

For all her cool, Faith's finding it harder to concentrate on remaining aloof. Her last good, gut-wrenching orgasm had been at her own hands -- well, Buffy's -- and her encounter with Riley had been anything but satisfying, leaving her shaken to the core. Tara's nimble fingers are all too clever, rubbing and teasing through the now-drenched sheer fabric of her panties, until Faith is ready to scream for more. Luckily, Tara's not that much of a sadist.

"There you go..." Tara's words of approval are thick with lust, only adding to Faith's pleasure and disorientation as her underwear are pulled to one side, fingers stroking and plucking the inflamed bud of her clit, the sea of her cunt oh sweet Jesus. There. _There._

She grabs Tara's wrist, hips twitching and thrusting back. Half-ready to hear Tara tell her to beg, Faith has no idea if she'd comply. Thank God it doesn't happen; instead she's on the verge of madness when a single finger slips inside her, quickly establishing a bulwark for the rear guard to move forward. It's when two becomes three that Faith freezes, sucking in a hard, shuddering breath before her teeth grit and a rising growl matches Tara's harsh grunts of exertion. Sunlight blossoms behind her eyeballs and Faith has just time to think that Tara's probably fucking her harder than she's ever fucked in her life when everything becomes fire in her veins, blood screaming in the rictus of muscle doing its level best to break Tara's beautiful fingers in half. She howls into her captor's mouth and clutches the witch's shoulder, hard enough to leave little half-moon stab wounds with surrounding bruises, and then she's coming again as Tara leans in and pushes with all the strength in her body, ripping the orgasm from her with a scream that cuts off in a choke and then turns to silence as Faith continues to jerk and contort in her arms.

The fire fades, leaving her empty in its wake. From far away, Faith can sense the dissipation of energy, signifying the successful completion of the spell. Tara still holds on to her, warmer and softer than anything she's ever known.

And in that moment, Faith knows she's lost.


End file.
